


a slip of envy

by ElasticElla



Series: tumblr drabbles and fics [69]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5379725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name won’t stop echoing in his head, in her voice.</p>
<p>(<i>Christophe, Christophe, Christophe</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a slip of envy

**Author's Note:**

> first posted [here](http://mulledwineandmulligan.tumblr.com/post/134109093105/i-changed-the-quote-a-bit-but-yeah-for-the)

The name won’t stop echoing in his head, in  _her_  voice.

Things were supposed to be different now, better now. All that was supposed to be left behind with the cursed name. (Yet here he stands with a new one and blood stained fingers. Fuck. He had been ready to  _kill_  her.)

He doesn’t know what to think about Annalise anymore. Doesn’t know how to reconcile the two people as one. He can still feel her hand on his chest, and  _did she know then_? They had a million little moments, all leading up to an obvious inevitability that had yet to pass- but when did she know?

He’s mad about Rebecca- that isn’t fake and he’s sure she was telling the truth, there was just the right amount of desperation in her voice. But he’s madder still that she’s been keeping his own past from him.

(A tiny voice whispers that he didn’t want to think about it anyways, that it’d be better to forget, and he squashes it out.)

.

Wes doesn’t go to the hospital during visitor hours. Perhaps it’s to make sure he doesn’t kill her, he’ll stand out on the tapes. Or maybe it’s because she’s sleeping, completely vulnerable, when he sneaks in and takes the visitor chair. It doesn’t matter, most things don’t.

Annalise wakes up a few hours later, when the moon’s high and peeking through the curtains. Her eyes slide open slow, and Wes is looking every inch the cold-blooded killer she turned him into; she doesn’t jump. There’s a sick feeling of pride in the pit of her stomach, and she thinks he’s going to be okay. He might even save the others from themselves.

And she cracks a smile, feeling more than a little cracked, and says, “Did you come to smother me? I’m partial to the green pillow.”

Wes takes her words seriously, not how he would have before her class. There would have been a stammer and an awkward chuckle, a worried question about the hospital’s care.

Instead, he meets her eyes squarely and says, “You don’t get to ask that of me.”

She sighs, and he says, “I thought about it.”

Chills dance down Annalise, anticipation mixed with something darker. Something that makes her want to push him, to make it all stop.

“Yeah? Would you kill Laurel too?”

“No.” Wes licks his lips, and he adds, “Maybe she’s right about the jail thing. But I don’t care.”

“You still care about me.”

It isn’t a question, but the answer is on the tip of his tongue anyways. It’s been there since her hand was on his chest, and it never really leaves his mouth. It tastes like damnation and deliverance, like the sweetest sin.

The bitter edge is new, and he tells himself it’s only because he almost killed her. Only because of Rebecca.

Definitely not because of Nate. He isn’t jealous, Annalise can protect whoever she damn pleases.

(He hates them both, but it still doesn’t drown out the teasing taste of wanting.)


End file.
